


look at what you've done to me (you're the cause of my lack of sympathy)

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Mogeko Castle
Genre: Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, It's shorter than I intended but eh, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12685773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: was this what you want me to be?





	look at what you've done to me (you're the cause of my lack of sympathy)

Yonaka dies.

Yonaka does not die by her brother, by her parents, or even by the mogeko, but instead dies by her own hand as her knife digs into her brothers body.

She dies as she skins her foes and wears a crown of flesh, she dies as she stabs a girl raised by creatures who do not know how to love, she dies as she becomes everything she wish she was not.

or maybe she died when she saw her friends body go up in flames from the small confines of a windows, unable to do a thing.

She doesn't know if it matters.

She doesn't know if anything matters.

 

 

She is a lord—a king, a queen, a god—she is divine and powerful and still oh so weak, weak, _weak_. Even with all the power in the world, universe, she is still helpless. She still doesn't know what to do. Everyone is looking at her, looking and judging and staring and touching— _don't touch her don't touch her don't touch her_ —and she wants to scream. This is not worship. This is not worship.

This is _sick_.

She feels filthy, filthy, filthy. She is the most holy being, and yet she feels more sinful than she ever felt before.

She hates them. She forgives them. She doesn't know.

She is the culmination of all she hates—yonaka is gone, yet still there, a lord of meat in her place, blending. It's ridiculous. It's a horrible ending. And that's the point.

She laughs and laughs and cries and screams until her voice is horse and dry, crackling like a flame. And then she collapses, for days, weeks, months. She doesn't know, she doesn't care. She wants to light this goddamn castle on fire, shove these creatures into the flame and listen to their screams, make them feel what defect felt, what she felt.

She hates them, loves them, forgives them. She destroys them, laughing as she slashes them up between her cycles of endless sleep, blood flying everywhere. That's the only time she smiles.

And the mogekos tell her familar stories, and she wonders what more they could possibly want from her. 

 

Yonaka, if she can even call herself that anymore, decides she doesn't care anymore, and sleeps, like aurora, a delicate rose covered with thorns, her face blank.

She's dead, anyways.


End file.
